


A New Season

by wordsliketeeth



Series: The Heart's Treason [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Acceptance, After Party, Alternate Universe - High School, Bathroom Sex, Canon-Typical Behavior, Confessions, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings Realization, First Time Blow Jobs, Jealousy, Memories, Non-Canon Character (Reader's Friend), Outdoor Sex, Overstimulation, Power Play, References to Drugs, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Strong Female Characters, Teasing, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Fingering, Vomiting, party sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: “'Liar,' Imayoshi says, the word like a melody on his tongue. 'This is exactly what you expected. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that you wanted me to follow you.'” What started as a game has evolved into a new type of entertainment, and things have changed since your feelings have come into play. But it there any contest when you're competing against the devil?
Relationships: Imayoshi Shouichi/Reader
Series: The Heart's Treason [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715611
Comments: 17
Kudos: 56





	A New Season

**Author's Note:**

> References to drug use and vomiting are in direct relation to background characters and not the reader.

Summer never seems to last as long as you want it to and this past summer was no exception—it cruised into autumn like the shiny new cars that speed through the western outskirts of Tokyo. You suspect that the celerity with which the season passed is due in part to the many days you spent with Imayoshi. That's not to say that you didn't enjoy the time you spent with your friends but there was something _different_ about spending your vacation days with Imayoshi, something new and exciting.

You leave your house earlier than strictly necessary and take the long way to the bus stop. It's been a while since you traveled down the age-old path and upon your journey you notice how the cracks in the pavement have grown larger since you'd last counted them. The trees have grown taller and there's concrete where the sunflowers used to grow. You listen to the birds chirp and sing, nestled high up in the maple trees and out of sight. The air is tepid and the wind moves listlessly, carrying with it the sweet perfume of kinmokusei.

You arrive at the bus stop only minutes before the squeal of machinery tugs you out of your reverie. You wait for the door to open and walk up the strep treads, immediately recognizing the stale stench of public transport. You hand the driver the bus fare and make your way down the aisle to a middle seat. You're happy to see that the bus is not overcrowded and press your forehead against the glass window as the bus's motor chugs into motion. You close your eyes and reminisce about the days you spent with Imayoshi.

You can feel your mouth curve on a smile when you recall the trip you took to Hachioji city. You think about the way your hand felt in Imayoshi's and how the sun warmed your skin. You recall the long hike through lush green landscape and the chiseled-out rock tunnel that led to a hidden waterfall oasis. You had been worried that you wouldn't be able to carry a conversation and that things would inevitably stretch into an uncomfortable silence. But there was no break in your discourse, on the contrary, Imayoshi was quite talkative and for every story he shared, you told one of your own.

Imayoshi shamelessly stripped down to nothing more than his sun-kissed skin and jumped from a craggy rock into the pool of water. He narrowed his eyes in your direction—his sight was nothing short of terrible—and gestured for you to join him. You were skeptical at first, but when nothing but the sounds of nature and the splash of Imayoshi's movements could be heard against the backdrop of the landscape, you aped his impromptu act of undress.

You kissed under the shade of long-reaching branches and fucked against a cascade of flowers behind the noise of a waterfall. You stretched out on the sun-warm rocks and traced patterns across Imayoshi's chest as you waited for the water to evaporate from your bodies. You learned that he spends his free time fishing and that he has a younger sister, that his father is a terrible cook, and that he and Hanamiya aren't on as bad of terms as people have been led to believe.

You skip ahead to the night you spent roasting marshmallows and telling scary stories under a curtain of stars. You had nothing but the light of the moon to guide you back to the cabin Imayoshi rented for the week. You held onto Imayoshi's arm like it was the only thing capable of keeping you grounded while insisting that you weren't scared at all. Imayoshi had laughed at you, and at the earliest opportunity, he startled you with a cheap jump scare that eventually led to a bout of angry sex.

By the time you were ready to hand in your keys, there wasn't a single piece of furniture that hadn't been christened by the byproduct of your mutual infatuation. It was also during this time that you gave Imayoshi your first blow job. He didn't give you a chance to test what you'd learned from magazines and adult videos, instead, he took complete control of your every movement through verbal instruction and hands-on direction. He exhibited a wealth of self-preservation the first night, but by the second, he fucked your throat so raw you had to sustain yourself on honey and tea the following day.

The stacks of memories fill a corner in the recess of your mind, untainted by time and free from the gossamer webs of neglect. You notice that your heart-rate has quickened and something is stirring in the low of your belly, something like a concoction of anticipation and arousal. You crack open your eyes and watch a blur of shops give way to scraps of scenery as the bus speeds on down the road. The air darkens with the myriad birds that rise from the tall grass and the business district that runs parallel to your route cuts jagged shapes into the skyline.

You want to slip into the past by taking a short nap but you can't hold the hands of time—there's only here and now, and presently you can't seem to quell the excitement running through your veins. You exhale a long sigh and try to get lost in the passing landscape.

Once you arrive at your destination you're chiding yourself for taking things so far, for allowing yourself to sink so deep into the quagmire of Imayoshi's wiles and charms. It's less about doubt and more about willpower because Imayoshi would have to be the world's best actor to fake how he feels when he's with you and he wouldn't waste his time. You suppose it has—perhaps everything—to do with the broken down bones of your belief, once unscathed. You never thought you'd be _that_ person, the one with their heart on their sleeve and their brain replete with soft wonderings at love-sick rumination.

You scoff and enter the building, telling yourself that you're just the opposite until you're convinced that it's true. You meander down a long hall, so lost in thought that the idle chatter buzzing around you doesn't connect. You almost miss your turn but thanks to the slow shuffle of the black-haired boy in front of you, you're able to tug yourself down from the clouds and realign your focus. You enter the gym and find Kozue in the crowd. You work your way over to the bleachers, snaking around the group of boys ahead of you.

“It's about time you showed up!” Kozue needles, patting the unoccupied space beside her. “I was worried that you'd got lost on the way or something.”

“I'm not that bad with directions. Besides, I took the bus. It was the cheapest option and I actually had room to stretch out.” You take your seat on the hard resistance next to Kozue and cross your legs. “I haven't wanted to take the train since...well, you know,” you tell her, wrinkling your nose in a show of displeasure.

Kozue issues a noise of disgust and shakes her head. “I can't say I blame you for that but it's not right. You shouldn't have to change your plans because of some sick pervert.”

You lift your shoulders in a casual shrug and stare out across the gym. “It's not that I _can't_ take the train, and when you put it like that it makes it sound like I'm letting him win. I should have just tied his balls into a knot when I had the chance.”

“Whose balls are we tying in a knot?” Imayoshi asks, dropping a hand on your shoulder and leaning down to better listen in on your conversation.

You start and turn to face him, and as soon as your eyes settle on the crooked tilt of his lips, everything you convinced yourself of earlier fades to black. You wet your lips absentmindedly and shift your gaze to his smoky eyes. “Where did you come from?”

Imayoshi frowns and you bite back a smile at his expression of put-on disappointment. “I was on the court. How can I live up to my title as captain if I don't stand out against my teammates?”

“To be fair, I wasn't looking. Besides, the gym is so thick with people that I wasn't paying any attention to who was on the court,” you confess. In reality, you were trying to fit as much time between observation and acknowledgment as possible, because seeing Imayoshi only leads to wanting.

“No, you were too busy thinking about some guy's balls to pay attention to what you came here for,” Imayoshi says.

Kozue emits a snort of laughter which awards her a gentle elbow to the ribs. “Who said I came here to watch you?” you tease and look away from Imayoshi, all while trying to ignore the ball of heat forming in the low of your belly.

“Let's just call it intuition and leave it at that.” Imayoshi subtly drags the pad of his thumb over the curve of your neck before he straightens his spine. His hand falls away from your shoulder and you have to swallow a whine of dissatisfaction.

“Aren't you getting tired of this same old song and dance?” you ask him, pretending at quondam normalcy.

Imayoshi's mouth curves on a wolfish grin and it lights the fuse between your thighs. He ducks his head and you can feel his lips move against the shell of your ear. “To make things more interesting, if we win this game—which I reckon we will—you can dance on my cock and I'll make you sing.”

You swallow thickly and shove Imayoshi's shoulder in an effort to put distance between you. “Don't stand so close to me. You smell like sweat and I have no interest in playing your games. In addition to the obvious, there's a party after tonight's match and I already have plans.”

“Do you?” Imayoshi asks, tilting his head in a gesture that spells curiosity. He reads the notes of your implicit message and smiles. “Then I suppose I'll have to rearrange my schedule. You know how much effort I put toward fitting it into you.”

You feel your cheeks blossom into color and glare up at Imayoshi. “I think your crude desires have gotten the best of you. That, or you've conveniently developed a case of inversion. Either way, _that_ is never going to happen.”

“Oi! Let's get a move on four-eyes!” Aomine calls from the gym's perimeter.

You turn your gaze to the blue-haired boy and notice that his eyes are trained on you instead of Imayoshi. He stares at you for a moment, his expression inscrutable and almost cold.

“You better go, hotshot,” Kozue says, shooing Imayoshi away with a brief wave of her hand. “Don't forget what you're _actually_ here for.”

Imayoshi slips his tongue between the seam of his lips, and what appears as an innocent action to most, reads like sex to you. You can feel heat pool at the apex of your thighs and fight the urge to adjust your position.

“I'll see you later, ladies,” Imayoshi says, bowing his head in a polite gesture unbecoming of the wicked grin on his lips and the gleam in his eye.

Kozue turns to you and you can feel her eyes boring into your skull, but you don't trust yourself enough to face her directly so you pretend to bury yourself deep in your thoughts. As you expect, however, it's not enough to ward off her suspicion.

“Say what you will, ____, Imayoshi doesn't excel in chemistry for nothing. You must be a diamond because you give his hardness a ten,” Kozue quips smartly.

“Kozue!” you scold, a sly breath of laughter escaping past your lips.

“Well, it's true. Anyone with eyes can see that you two have it bad for each other.” Kozue shrugs her shoulders before waving to someone on the court and you don't have to look to know that it's Susa.

You think about telling her truth, that you've been secretly dating Imayoshi since the end of your previous school year but you can't bring yourself to admit it yet. It's not for any of the reasons one might assume, you're not ashamed or embarrassed, but there's something about being in a covert relationship that you're not ready to let go of.

You fix your gaze on the start of the game and assume the role of the girl you were before Imayoshi managed to win you over. When in truth, you only have eyes for the analytic shark with messy black hair and stormy eyes.

After the game ends in Tōō's favor, you think back on Imayoshi's words and hope they were in the vein of a promise he's willing to make good on. You fantasize about sneaking into the visiting team's locker room and slipping into Imayoshi's shower stall to congratulate him on his win. There are two problems with this fancy, however: the first being that this particular school is said to have prison-like showers, and secondly, you can't shake Kozue off long enough to avoid raising suspicion.

You try to act as casually as you would on any other day and only steal glimpses at Imayoshi when Kozue is distracted. You watch his mouth move as he speaks to Harasawa and Momoi, wishing that you were kissing his lips. He twists his fingers in the soft-weave of his jersey and lifts it away from his skin to wipe the sweat from his neck. You stare at the sharp angle of his hipbones and the dark line of hair that disappears into his shorts. You think you can make out a bead of sweat roll down the hard lines of his abdomen and you're stricken with the sudden urge to chase it with your tongue.

You're so distracted by the galaxy of indecent thoughts mottling your brain that you don't realize that you've deviated from the bevy of people leaving the gym. You walk right into someone and you're issuing an apology before you even make out who it is.

“If you wanted to talk to me, you could have just said so,” Aomine says, his timbre low and resonant. “So you're the one Imayoshi's got his eye on, eh?” His lips curve into a smirk and you can see a dark edge of playfulness begin to glide across the sapphire waters of his gaze.

He lifts a water bottle to his lips and drinks its remaining contents in one go, crushing the plastic in his grip when he's done. He effortlessly tosses the empty bottle into a recycling container and runs a hand through his short strands.

“You didn't break much of a sweat,” you note, not sure of what else to say. “The rest of your team doesn't look so fortunate.” You look over at Imayoshi as if to underscore your statement, when you're really just utilizing the opportunity for personal gain.

“You ran into me to talk about perspiration?” Aomine arches an eyebrow and you can't help but laugh at his expression.

“I didn't run into you on purpose,” you tell him honestly. “I was just thinking about the party I'm going to and got caught up in my thoughts. It was an accident, I swear.” You toss up your hands in a gesture of surrender and smile. “I'm innocent.”

Aomine draws a noise of disbelief up the back of his throat and runs his tongue over the sharp edge of a pearly canine. “Is that so?” he lilts, arrogance heavy on his breath.

You keep your composure but something tightens in your chest. You wonder if Aomine knows something, if Imayoshi has told him about their relationship. Your pulse begins to race as you think about Imayoshi sharing your more intimate details with the rest of his team. It's not as though he's the closest to Aomine, and if he's gone as far to tell him then... You drive the thoughts out of your head and put a stake through your skepticism.

“Are you insinuating that I'm lying?” is your response, as fierce as the bark and bite of Aomine's sing-song implication.

Aomine lifts his shoulders in the barest hint of a shrug, and for someone who's been deemed as simple, you find yourself growing frustrated at how hard he is to read.

“I just happen to know a thing or two about pretty girls,” he says with all the casual indifference of neutralist.

“Oh yeah?” You cross your arms over your chest and stare directly into Aomine's eyes. “What is it that you _think_ you know?”

Aomine laughs and shakes his head, humming in a dissenting voice. “No way, girl. I'm not gonna be your next target. I know what you did to four-eyes and I have no interest in dogging his footsteps.”

“What did I say about you calling me four-eyes?” Imayoshi purrs, sneaking up behind Aomine and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Do I need to give you a reminder?”

Aomine looks visibly unnerved and all the color drains from his face due to the underlying threat. “Nah, I'm good,” he says, struggling to maintain an even tone.

Aomine looks at you and presses his lips together, smearing a water droplet into its center. “Maybe I'll see you at that party,” he says, a note of hopefulness rounding his deep timbre. Then he shrugs Imayoshi's arm off his shoulders and hastily makes his way toward the opposite side of the gym.

“Dare I ask what you did to make him respond to you like that?” you question Imayoshi as you watch Aomine gesture at Momoi before disappearing through a door. You turn your gaze to Imayoshi and almost laugh at how pleased he looks with himself.

“You're free to ask, and I'll tell you if you truly want to know—but if you even think about meeting up with him at that party, I'll do even better and give you a firsthand example,” Imayoshi says, his voice like silk and shot-through with honey.

“That's a very tempting offer,” is your reply, flirtatious and sprightly. “Something tells me that I would appreciate that example much more than Aomine-kun did.”

Imayoshi chuckles and the sound rumbles somewhere deep in his chest. “I reckon so.” He takes a step forward and rests his hand just above the bend of your elbow. He leans in close to your cheek and you can feel his breath ghost your ear. “That doesn't mean that I won't tweak a few things if you test me. I've been told that I have a knack of making even the most enjoyable things unpleasant. If I so choose, that is.”

You back away from Imayoshi and pretend at offense. “I'm sure you _choose_ to often but I won't give you that choice.” You brush your hand over the spot where Imayoshi just held his fingers and drag your gaze down his body. “I reckon you should go take a shower with the rest of the boys. You smell like a wet pair of Birkenstock sandals and debasement.”

“I have no idea what those are but I'll take your word for it,” Imayoshi says, oddly agreeable.

“Basically you smell like an unwashed Coachella hippie, minus the scents of patchouli and marijuana,” you summarize.

“That...sounds interesting,” Imayoshi says, furrowing his brow as the rest of his features shape an expression of confused discontent.

You wave your hand to dispel what you've just said and softly shake your head. “I'll see you at the party, evil glasses guy,” you tell him, smiling.

“Why not just call me Satan or Lucifer? It saves time,” Imayoshi counters, frowning.

“I've never seen the devil drawn in your likeness. Besides, you only wish you could be so famously egregious. You're insufferable at best.”

“Really? Well, with your pristine reputation and easy-going personality, I'd say we're a perfect match. They say opposites attract, after all.” Imayoshi's mouth curves on a smile that shoots straight through you and you struggle to disguise the shiver that snakes down your spine.

“Whatever you say, Imayoshi-san,” you drawl before you turn on your heel to leave. You waste no more time playing games because you know that the sooner you depart, the sooner you get to the party—and getting to the party means sneaking off for some alone time with your boyfriend.

You try to ignore the desire bathing in your veins and the heat spiraling out across your skin. It's almost despicable, how much you have to fight the urge to turn around and go back to him. You think you're starting to understand what people say about young love on a personal level and you're not so sure you're comfortable with the notion. Still and all, thoughts of Imayoshi play on repeat between the wax and the needle in your mind, and you know better than to believe that you're willing to give him up. If you're destined to stitch your relationship into the pattern or two young lovers, then so be it.

You meet up with Kozue outside and she tells you that Susa's older sister is going to give you a ride over to the party. You're grateful because more people means more voices to drown out the salacious thoughts swimming through your head. You realize, at that moment, that there isn't a single part of your body that Imayoshi hasn't infected and how he truly is like the serpent in the garden of Eden.

The start of the ride begins with Susa's sister telling Kozue stories about Susa from when he was a young boy. You try to focus on their conversation but their voices melt into the background because all you can think about is the way Imayoshi's hands feel on your skin and the sound of his voice when he whispers husky words into your ear. By the end of the ride, however, you're able to divert your concentration and push your thoughts of Imayoshi to the back of your mind.

It's a short-lived milestone though because as soon as you step out of the car, your eyes are scanning the many heads of those standing outside, wondering when Imayoshi will show up.

“Come on, ____!” Kozue says, enthusiasm as bright on her lips as the illumination spilling out across the front lawn. She grabs your wrist and tugs you up the pebbled walkway that leads to the front door. You let her guide you because it seems easier than protesting, and once inside, she lets you go in favor of finding drinks, no doubt.

You find a less occupied corner and unzip your jacket, shrugging it off your shoulders to reveal a crisscross open-back tee. You shiver as the air meets your bare skin and your body attempts to adjust to the change in temperature. You make sure the front zip closure on your skirt is centered and drape your jacket over your arm before making your way back out into the throng of students and their companions. The music grows louder and someone across the room starts singing loudly, a sign that they've already had too much to drink. You roll your eyes and sweep the fall of your hair over your shoulder.

You see one of Kozue's teammates and start to make your way over to her when a familiar voice meets your ears.

“Remember what I said on the way over here, Dai-chan. You can't afford to get into any more trouble.”

You turn around and see Momoi and Aomine coming down the hall. He responds with, “Get off my back, Satsuki,” and you offer her a consolatory smile when she waves at you. You wait for her to close the distance between you, Aomine following close behind.

“Did you come here alone?” Momoi asks, raising her voice to compete with the music.

You shake your head and lean in closer to where she's standing. “I came with Kozue but she ran off to get drinks. It would appear that she got lost on the way.”

Momoi giggles and Aomine huffs something between a snort and a laugh. “You just best hope she didn't get lost in one of the bedrooms,” Aomine says, his voice dragging slow.

“Dai-chan, have some class,” Momoi scolds, elbowing Aomine in the side. “I'm sure she'll be back soon,” she says, shifting her focus back to you. “I'll see you around. I have to make sure this beast keeps himself in check.” She gestures at Aomine with her thumb and rolls her eyes.

You look at Aomine and notice that his gaze is glued to the chest of a girl who's leaning against the hallway wall. She's deep in conversation with her friends and doesn't have the slightest idea that Aomine is taking advantage of her shirt's plunging neckline.

“Her chest is impressive but no matter how much you stare, tits don't do tricks,” you tell him, your voice yanking him out of his reverie and slamming him back down to the grounds of reality.

Aomine looks like he wants to say something but you ignore him and address Momoi instead. “Good luck. It looks like you're going to need it.”

Momoi looks exhausted already and you feel sorry for her. She pinches Aomine in the space just beneath his ribs and pushes him in the direction of the neighboring room. “Thanks,” she says on a sigh. She takes a step forward, and just as you're about to look for Kozue, she looks over her shoulder and says: “Imayoshi will be here soon.”

You stare at her with nothing to say because _why would she think you cared?_ And when you finally wrap your head around a response, she simply smiles and walks away. You chalk it up to her observational skills—which are nothing short of legendary it would seem—and make your way down the hall toward the kitchen.

You spot Kozue almost immediately, circled by a small crowd of mixed genders who are shouting a host of cheers and jeers alike. Kozue is chugging down the contents inside a red plastic cup as the stranger by her side does the same. It spells competition, no doubt, and you're almost afraid of how your best friend is going to come out of the contest.

Kozue slams the cup down on the table and licks her lips. She thrusts her fist into the air in a gesture of victory and the room thrums with a chorus of celebration. You wince at the sound and note that several people to your right are tossing back some kind of pill.

“Show us your tits!”

You turn your head to look at the owner of the command and recognize him as a member of the baseball club. He's large in stature and red-faced, so intoxicated by alcohol that the boy at his side can hardly keep him standing.

You note several people draw out their cell phones in preparation and that's when you decide it's time to step in. You push through the overheated bodies and the mess of verbal swill that gets thrown at you. Kozue has just gripped the hem of her shirt when you finally reach her. You take her by the arm and begin to bodily drag her out of the kitchen despite her noises of dissent.

“Come on, ____! Don't be a killjoy!” The third-year shouts and you're surprised that he can remember your name considering the state he's in.

“I'd rather be a killjoy than have you jerking it to my best friend later,” you call over your shoulder as you leave the room.

When you step out into the hall, gaze fixed directly before you, you find Imayoshi staring back at you.

“I have to admit, this is not how I expected to find you,” he says, amusement dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“Tell me about it,” you say, sighing. “I didn't expect her to plunge headfirst into the punch bowl. It doesn't help that she's such a lightweight.”

Kozue drapes an arm around your shoulder and knits her brows together to draw up a hawkish expression. “Who are you calling a lightweight?”

“You!” you say pointedly. “I think we've been here all of what? Twenty minutes? Maybe thirty max and you're already tipsy.” You hook an arm around her waist and prop her up. “I thought you'd at least wait until Susa showed up to start drinking.”

“Where's Susa?” Kozue asks, voice hitching into hysteria. She shields her gaze as if the lights are the sun and scans the crowd with narrowed eyes.

“He'll be here soon enough,” Imayoshi says, looking like he's standing at the crossroads between amusement and exasperation. Then he looks away from Kozue and into your eyes. “I'll see if he can take her home.”

“That would be great. Can you help me get her outside?” you ask him, sounding more hopeful than you initially intended to. “I think some fresh air might help sober her up a little.”

Kozue wraps her arms around your waist hard enough to send an ache through your ribs. She hugs you tight and rests her head on your shoulder. “You're a really great friend, ____,” she tells you behind a wide smile.

“I would normally play the modesty card but I'm going to agree with you here. Also, you're crushing me.” You pry her arms away from your waist and duck your head to fit her arm against the back of your neck. You keep her hand held close to your shoulder and silently pray that Susa is nearby.

Imayoshi follows suit on Kozue's opposite side, and she's quick to throw an arm around his shoulders. “You're not my type but you're pretty cute up close,” she tells him, laughing. “I can see why ____...”

“That's quite enough of that,” you interject and start moving in the direction of the door.

It's not an easy feat considering the number of people coming and going, but with Imayoshi's help, you make it outside in one piece before Kozue pales and lies down on the sidewalk to cool the heat sticking to her skin.

“She's a disaster,” you say, shaking your head in a gesture that's equal parts amused and disappointed.

Imayoshi's fingers drag up your spine and you twitch at the contact; a shiver so vibrant ricochets off your nerves that it visibly shakes you. Imayoshi chuckles and you can smell the woodsy notes of his cologne as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders.

“I have my own,” you point out, but you're already drawing the borrowed fabric in close around your shoulders.

“I know,” Imayoshi says, still looking down at Kozue who's stretched out on the walkway in the shape of a concrete angel. “And I think you look quite ravishing tonight, but if you're going to wear anything, I prefer you dressed in my clothes.”

“Are you saying that you'd rather have me in nothing at all?” you tease, keeping your voice low and in the interspace of your bodies.

“Was I that obvious?” Imayoshi asks, turning his focus away from Kozue to face you directly.

“Maybe a little,” you lilt, shrugging if off as elementary discourse. You turn your head to look at him and a spark of passion lances through your heart when you make eye contact.

Storm clouds move across Imayoshi's eyes and you think for a moment that you can feel the turbulence spread out through your veins. You part your lips to speak but Susa's voice slices through your chain of thought.

“Care to explain what happened here?” he asks, to no one in particular it would seem.

Kozue tries to scramble to her feet, elated at Susa's arrival, but she sits up too fast and vomits right in the space between her knees.

You inhale a short breath before you press your lips together and glance sideways at Imayoshi. He catches your glimpse and looks to Susa, who appears to be caught between the gutters of wanting to help and not knowing what to do.

“She had a bit too much to drink, or perhaps more appropriately, she drank too much too fast,” Imayoshi tells him. “We were hoping you might be able to escort her home.”

Susa circles around to Kozue's back and hooks his arms beneath her underarms, lifting her carefully away from the puddle of bile on the pavement. She groans and presses a hand to her forehead, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed. She reaches out for Susa and curls her fingers around the front of his hoodie.

“I feel like I got drunk and went through an entire hangover in less than an hour,” Kozue groans. “I feel awful.”

“You kind of did,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest in a gesture indicative of your mother's character. “At least you've sobered up some...I hope.”

“Come on,” Susa says, taking the hand she's pressed against his abdomen into his own. “I'll walk with you to the corner store down the street. We'll get you some pain relievers and something non-alcoholic to drink. You could also do with something to eat.”

“Sounds good,” Kozue says, frowning at the bitter taste on her tongue. She looks at you and offers you a sympathetic smile. “I'm sorry, ____. I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

You wave your hand in a dismissive gesture and offer her a magnanimous smile. “Just get better and be safe. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Kozue waves you goodbye and walks away with Susa, hand-in-hand, and on shaky legs.

“Now that we've ironed out that wrinkle, should we go back inside?” Imayoshi asks, tucking a section of wind-blown hair behind your ear.

You laugh and unthinkingly rub your cheek against Imayoshi's palm. He knits his brows together and you read the question before he has a chance to speak it. “You have two modes, you're either an arrogant prick or an old man.”

“It's rude to make fun of someone's diction, you know,” Imayoshi scolds, but it's plain to see that he's unaffected by your playful cavil at his personality. “Why don't I take you upstairs and show you just how much of a prick I can be?”

“What makes you think that I'd do such a thing? Do you know what people will say if they see me sneaking off with you?” You tug Imayoshi's jacket off of your shoulders and shove the material against his chest. “Now if you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

You turn around and begin to make your way back up to the house. You swear that you can feel Imayoshi's gaze penetrate your spine like a creature who has invaded your bloodstream, and you're loath to admit that you don't hate the way it feels.

You make your way up the stairs, past the clusters of couples who seem to be in competition with one another. You think about announcing that the human tongue is only so long but think better of it. You turn the corner just in time to see Kirishima tug a pretty girl with dimpled cheeks into an empty bedroom. You roll your eyes and try the bathroom door, astounded to find that it's unlocked. You peek inside cautiously, half-expecting to find someone hunched over the toilet, or worse.

When you're confident that you're alone, you close the door behind you and walk over to the vanity mirror. You smooth out your hair and unstick the eyelashes at the corner of your eye. A girl from the class below you enters the bathroom and hastily sits down on the toilet to urinate without batting an eye at your presence. She flushes the toilet when she's finished and washes her hands as if you're merely a shadow in the background, then she leaves the bathroom as quickly as she entered it.

You move to close the gap she left between the door and its frame when it swings open. You have to jump back to avoid coming into contact with the glossy wood and when Imayoshi enters the room, you exhale a sigh of relief. He pushes the lock into place and you can judge by his reflection in the mirror that he's smirking.

“You act like you're surprised to see me,” he says, turning to face you head-on.

“I _am_ surprised to see you. I didn't expect you to follow me to the bathroom,” you tell him, unsurprised that your heart is hammering in your chest.

“Liar,” he says, the word like a melody on his tongue. “This is exactly what you expected. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that you _wanted_ me to follow you.”

“This is exactly why I have a problem with you. You're presumptuous and pretentious and I have no use for arrogant bastards like you,” you needle as you close the distance between your bodies.

“I could easily say the same about you. You're obnoxious and self-centered and you're detrimental to my health. You're a holy terror and as unhallowed as my charms. You're cocky and insolent” –Imayoshi braces his hands at your hips and shoves you up against the sink vanity– “and it drives me fucking insane.” He growls the curse like it's poison and lifts you onto the counter. You card your fingers through his hair and he begins kissing you like the breath in your lungs is the cure to what ails him.

His hands feel everywhere at once and you're already getting desperate for a revolution. You chase the spark in your veins to the heat spilling out in your blood and yank Imayoshi into the gap between your knees. You bite at his lips like you've been devoured by your obsession, and by the time you draw back for breath, Imayoshi's already unzipping your skirt.

“I could make a whole new religion out of this,” Imayoshi says, his breath coming hard and fast.

“Do you have to make” –Imayoshi slides his hand between your thighs and yanks aside your panties– “everything about religion?” you ask him, gasping. You shove his jacket off his shoulders, wondering why he bothered putting it back on.

“My father exorcises demons for a living. I haven't grown up in the most conventional of environments.” Imayoshi tugs his T-shirt over his head and tosses it over the edge of the bathtub without thinking. “Let's just call it fascination,” he says and shoves his jeans down to the slight jut of his knees.

“Isn't that ironic?” You part your thighs to accommodate Imayoshi's frame and when he takes your hips in his hands, you drape your leg around his own, your heel digging in against the back of his knee. “Your father is an exorcist and you've got a ticket to Hell. He must be so disappointed.”

Imayoshi laughs and lines himself up to your entrance. “About as disappointed as you are, darlin',” he says, and with a single thrust, he sheathes his entire length in your wet heat.

You tighten your grip on the dark strands catching between your fingers and let yourself be carried away by Imayoshi's rough ministrations. You rake your nails down his back and he drags the cool edges of his teeth over your pulse, biting down on your neck just hard enough to draw a whine up the back of your throat.

You let your head fall back against the support of the wall and close your eyes as Imayoshi fucks into you in earnest. Every drag of his tongue, every perfect shift of his hips, has you keening for more, open-mouthed and panting. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth but you're quick to let it go when Imayoshi digs his fingertips into the fading bruises on your hips.

“You're enthusiastic this evening,” you tell him, dragging your foot up the back of his thigh to bring him closer somehow. “Is this for calling you an old man?”

Imayoshi issues a huff of laughter and lifts his head to look at you. “Do you think I'm that easily charged?” He shakes his head and undulates his hips in a way that takes each thrust deeper. “If you don't know how I work after spending the better part of summer together, I gave you too much credit.”

Imayoshi's cockhead drags over a spot inside of you that makes a kaleidoscope of color pop behind your eyes. You flex your fingers and drag your nails up the line of his scalp, desperate for something to hold on to, something to keep you grounded against the electricity in your veins.

“I deserve all the credit you give me and more,” you say, your words cut by the sharp edge of pleasure and the rhythm of your breathing. “Which is how I know why you're fucking me like a storm in a teacup.”

Imayoshi chases a bead of sweat down the smooth column of your throat, flicking his tongue over the jut of your collarbone. “What have you concluded this time, pray tell?” he drawls, his voice like a tattoo drawn across your skin.

“You're jealous,” is your answer, steady and sure despite the pleasure drowning out the blood in your veins. “You hate it when other guys look at me. That alone is enough to fuel your fire, but you _really_ hate it when they talk to me. Don't think I missed the look in your eye earlier, when Aomine mentioned the party. _If looks could kill_ is putting it lightly.”

Imayoshi's fingers leave your hips and before you can track the trajectory of his next action, he gathers your wrists in his hands and pins them to the wall above your head.

“Is it so wrong that I like to keep tabs on what's mine?” Imayoshi purrs, his thumb digging into the twitch of your pulse. He rolls his hips and you involuntarily grind down to meet his thrusts. Your body is like a fine-tuned instrument and Imayoshi is skilled in the art of composition; he strings you into sound and to deny yourself of his craft would be no different than fighting against the tide. So you let yourself be carried away by the current and lose yourself in him.

“Are you implying that I'm your property?” you ask, your voice barely scratching above the reaches of a whisper.

“I'm not implying anything. As long as we're together you're just as much my possession as you are my equal.” Imayoshi's eyes burn with smoke from an unseen fire. “I never said that being with me would be easy. Loving me is no different than being bound by human shackles.”

“Whoever said anything about love?” you blurt, trapped in the burning red and suffocated by the flames of a forest fire. “Maybe I'm just killing time.”

“You can't trust lust,” Imayoshi says, his thrusts becoming erratic and spontaneous. “You're as easy to read as an open book.”

You shift your wrists but Imayoshi's hold is firm and unyielding. You can't wrap your head around all of the dark matter he's throwing at you so you decide to tuck it away for later and throw caution to the breeze. “Just shut up and fuck me,” you encourage, losing yourself to an abstraction of pleasure.

Imayoshi's mouth curves on a wicked grin and he slams himself home. “There's something to be said about the power of persuasion,” he declares. “It would seem that you're no exception to the influence.”

“I'm starting to think that you're getting off on hearing yourself speak more than you are fucking me. I'm offended.” You focus on the heat pooling between your thighs and the way Imayoshi's movements are stretching the lining of your wet cunt. You tighten the tendons in your thighs and contract your pelvic muscles around the flux of Imayoshi's cock.

“You just happen to bring out the loquacious side of me,” Imayoshi admits. “You act like it's a bad thing but I know for a fact that if I were to change the direction of this conversation, you would turn to putty in my hands.”

“You sound awfully confident for a boy who's about to come,” you say loftily.

Imayoshi stills his motion and arches an eyebrow, eyes fixed on your face. “All I have to do is stop. You, on the other hand, are weak to more than my movements.”

You try to swallow but your mouth is dry and something like impatience catches in the dark of your throat instead. You start to frame your lips on a witty response but Imayoshi abandons your slick canal and tugs you off of the counter before you can push it into sound. He tugs your arms behind your back and shoves you up against the marble edge of the vanity. He collects your wrists in a single hand and slides his unoccupied fingers through your hair.

“Did you know that you're living a life that most people call privilege?” Imayoshi tugs your head back and forces you to look at your reflection. You shift your eyes to his image, darker than your own and overrun by the shadows obscuring his features. Though, you're able to catch the white slash of a smile and the glint of light catching on his glasses.

You trade your distraction for discipline and glare at Imayoshi's silhouette. “Your point?”

“I just think it's interesting. I'm starting to realize that I must have a type.” Imayoshi kicks apart your feet and forcibly widens your stance. “Who knew that I would find all of those things I said about you earlier charming in a woman.”

You scoff and shake your hair out of your face. “Maybe it's just me,” you counter, skipping over the stones of Imayoshi's egotism. To contend with a master of manipulation is ever an unequal struggle but you refuse to fall.

“I suppose that's possible,” Imayoshi reasons. “But I must say it's due in part to my ongoing affair with controversy. You know I love a good challenge.”

“Then maybe I should make things a bit more difficult for you,” you say and start to bring your legs together.

Imayoshi is swift, and before you have a chance to reposition your stance, he removes the hand in your hair and fits it between your thighs instead. “I don't think so,” he says, breath spilling down the angle of your neck. “I have a different kind of challenge in mind for today.”

“Who made you boss?” you ask, dragging the end of the question into a hiss when Imayoshi's fingers glance your clit.

“I did,” Imayoshi answers, and for all its simplicity, it leaves no room for argument. “Now be a good girl and listen closely.”

Imayoshi reads your dubious expression in the mirror and chuckles. “If you don't behave, you won't get rewarded.”

“What if I want to be problematic? I think it would do you some good, for someone to be hard on you.” Imayoshi dips a single digit into your entrance and smears the slick that coats his skin over your clit. The slide offers up just the right amount of friction and you have to bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from caving into his touch.

“I made an atheist pray for Jesus after twenty minutes in my company. I don't think there's much you could do to forestall my intentions.” Imayoshi looks your reflection deep in the eyes and drags the flat of his tongue up the side of your neck. “And you and I both know that's not what you really want.” His lips brush the shell of your ear and you feel your body tremor at the contact.

“What _do_ I want then?” you ask him, trying to inject as much exasperation into your tone as possible. You might be willing to throw down the hand of your control but you won't do so without upping the ante first.

“You want to submit to me. You want me to smother the bitterness that burns through you. You hate the taste of it, you hate that you can't renege on your promise to stay resolute because it's exhausting.” Imayoshi slides two fingers into your aching cunt and fucks into you slowly, and you know that he's fully aware that it's not enough, not even _close_ to satisfactory. You groan and tug at his grip, desperate to touch yourself, to quell the thrumming need that spreads to a twinge of discomfort.

Imayoshi continues as if he isn't aware of your discomfort, or more suitably, he delights in it. “You might want to cut me down just to watch me bleed but it's only temporary because you _need_ me to discipline you. You want to be dominated, to capitulate in the name of desire. You want to be all of the things you can't be when we're not alone. You want me to push you, to test your boundaries—and you'll push back, but at the end of the day, you just want to eschew your ideology and embrace temptation.”

Imayoshi crooks his fingers and presses his fingertips against a wall of spongy tissue inside of you. You gasp and press yourself closer to the countertop for some semblance of stability. Your knees go weak and you can't recall the last time you blinked since Imayoshi split you into two. You have to close your dry eyes to shut the light out from your vision. You take comfort in the dark, and there's something about surrendering one of your senses that imbues you with satisfaction.

Constellations draw themselves out behind your eyes and you swear you can hear water washing against uneven land in the distance. You feel like you're floating in space and when Imayoshi shifts his fingers, you realize that the sound is coming from between your thighs. You feel like a hostage, detained by Imayoshi's unbending affections, and despite wanting to escape to where the water bends, you're prepared to drown by his callous hand.

“In the cant of modern psychology, this moment is purely physical, as is my current intention. Perhaps I overcomplicated things; perhaps I should be touching on the visceral adhesions you've given to me. The quiver of your thighs, the smell of your arousal, the heavy beat of your heart alongside the twitch of your pulse, the ragged edge of your breathing, the soft little moans you're making...” Imayoshi trails off, and you know that he's giving you a moment to grasp what you hadn't realized—that everything he's said is true.

There's something haunting about his innate perception, like the eerie spirits of the woods or the night sounds of the city—but for as uncanny as it seems, it's equal parts arousing. There's something exciting about someone knowing you so thoroughly, inside and out. And as if your thoughts turn to evidence, Imayoshi removes his fingers from your body and holds them in the light. His skin glistens with the proof of your arousal and the sly smile on his lips is anything but forgiving.

“Have you resigned yourself to the truth yet?” he asks, egotism dripping from his eye teeth. “Do you want my cock buried deep inside of you, pushing the boundaries of your sex? Do you want me to fuck you without restraint?” Imayoshi lets go of your wrists and spins you around to face him. He fits his hand against the base of your throat and holds it there, forcing you to meet his eyes. “If you take my words for gospel, if you give yourself over to the truth, you won't have any limits. There won't be anything to hold you back from what you desire most.”

“What do I desire most?” you rasp, voice grating with thirst and breath cut by Imayoshi's hand.

“Me,” he tells you, confident and sure.

He slides his hand away from your throat and to the nape of your neck. His fingers are firm against your skin and when he kisses you, it feels like he's keeping you in a cage. And it should feel like captivity but it feels like freedom, and when you open your mouth to let him in, you feel the diamonds beneath your skin turn to liquid.

Imayoshi fits himself between your legs and with your hands finally free, you grab the base of his cock and guide him inside of you. He lifts you with ease and slams your back against the wall, fucking into you with all the reverence of the penitential right.

His hands are back on your hips and your fingers are buried in the dark spill of his hair. You bite at his lips and he digs bruises into your skin, each contusion a trophy of where he's been. To most, it would seem like a fight for dominance but in truth, you're relinquishing your control for a shot at sexual privilege.

Your body crashes headlong into the trenches of hypersensitivity, and every raw nerve-ending beneath your skin comes to life. Pleasure sinks down to the marrow of your bones and like when a drop of blood meets water, satisfaction spreads through you in tiny ripples. The thoughts in your head burn to ash and the heat in your veins ignites the fuse nestled between your heart and your spine. Your skin glistens with a fine sheen of sweat and when Imayoshi begins to manipulate your clit, you feel like you've gone up in flames.

The rupture spreads to Imayoshi within seconds and you can feel him knuckle under to pleasure before you've even started to recover from the intensity of your orgasm. He slams his palm against the wall beside your head and you can feel the shudder that shakes through him beneath your fingertips. You wrap your arms around his neck and join him in the fight for steady respiration.

After a long moment of chasing breath and tracking stability, Imayoshi sets you back down on the floor. His eyes are half-lidded and you've never known anyone to look so smashed without being in fragments. He looks soused on adrenaline and high on euphoria, but when he speaks it's with all the clarity of a crystal blue stream.

“I have it so fucking bad for you,” he confesses, a breath of laughter light on his lips. He walks over to the tub and retrieves his shirt, shaking it out before tugging it over his tousled strands.

“You don't say,” you needle, trying for a splash of sarcasm that ends drenched in fatigue. It takes more energy than it should to retrieve your skirt and your fingers are shaking so badly that you can't line the start of the zipper up to the silver teeth.

Imayoshi tugs his pants up his legs but leaves them open as he offers you his assistance. He zips up your skirt and smooths down the front of your shirt. “I can't decide if I love or hate that so much of your skin is exposed,” Imayoshi tells you, pondering the nearly-bare expanse of your back in the mirror.

You tug the withered edges of his shirt out from the waistband of his jeans and lower your gaze to the shadow of dark hair that gets swallowed up by the denim. “It's uncouth to forgo underwear, you know,” you tease, and somehow manage to fit the metal button through its respective slit. Imayoshi grins and drags up his zip, and before he can tug his shirt into place, you're lending your hand.

“Out of all the things that recently happened here, the thing that you bother to comment on is the fact that I'm sans boxers.” Imayoshi shifts his features into an expression of consideration that seems to settle on acceptance.

“Maybe I'm trying to forget about how we just fucked on someone's bathroom sink in the middle of a party.” You check your reflection and deem total restoration hopeless because there's no extinguishing the fire burning behind your eyes.

Imayoshi shakes his head and rests his hands on your hips. “I could stick a knife inside of you and twist it all around, and it still wouldn't be enough to make you forget what just happened.”

“That's an extreme reference,” you say, brushing several sections of hair back into their rightful places.

“What's extreme is pretending that you could so easily forget this, that you could forget us.” Imayoshi ducks his head and places a chaste kiss on the delicate curve of your shoulder. He lowers his hands and slips his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt, skin touching skin. “I never thought I'd be saying this, especially not to you, but I think it's safe to say that we go good together.”

“You're making a lot of confessions tonight,” you say, spinning in his grip to face him. “What's this going to cost me?”

“I haven't settled on that yet,” he teases, sliding his hands up your back. “This is the first time I've ever been truly open and sincere.”

You huff a breath of laughter and straighten his glasses. “That is probably _the_ most honest thing you've ever said to me.” You drag your fingertips across his forehead and brush his hair out of his eyes. “You desperately need someone to save you from yourself.”

“I reckon you're not entirely wrong about that,” Imayoshi says, his voice dropping half an octave lower due to the slow drag of physical recompense. “Are you offering to be that person? 'Cause if you are, I hope you're prepared for defeat. I think that, ultimately, you'll find that I'm beyond saving.”

“I won't know until I try,” you say and shrug your shoulders lazily. “Besides, if you really are the devil, then you're already damned and I'm still here. It doesn't matter much, does it?”

Imayoshi smiles and takes your face between his warm hands. “If I'm the devil, then I will frame you in my art and erotically confuse your religion.” He tips your head back and firmly fits his lips to the shape of your own. When he draws away, he looks at you like the light of the moon breaks up the ocean at night. “Do you think you could ever love me?” he asks suddenly, and you're surprised at how steady his voice is.

You dampen your lips and consider the question while a thousand thoughts crowd your mind. You mull over possibilities and crack through reason but there's only one answer that stands out in the sea of self-concept and self-understanding.

“I think I could,” you tell him, as sure of your response as you are the butterflies trapped in your intercostal muscles.

Imayoshi's smile turns crooked and the kaleidoscope of winged-insects move to the low of your belly. He shifts his hand, fingertips ghosting the contour of your cheek as he drags his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then I think the real question is, will you be able to save yourself from _me_?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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